


Up Off My Bony Knees

by kinknou



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-15
Updated: 2013-10-15
Packaged: 2017-12-29 12:01:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1005184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kinknou/pseuds/kinknou
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>Harry really can’t remember why he was ever so lost or frightened of meeting his soul mate because Louis Tomlinson seems like a pretty perfect idea of everything Harry never knew he needed in his life until it was staring right at him with bright blue cerulean eyes that might just hold the purpose of Harry's life.</em>
</p><p> </p><p> <br/>Or: an alternate universe where everyone's notified to meet their soul mates at the right time and harry's only sixteen ad louis' everything he never expected his soul mate to be. It's kinda sorta perfect.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Up Off My Bony Knees

 

One Wednesday morning Harry has trouble waking up more so than usual because there’s a piece of paper stuck onto his forehead.b

He frowns first, confused  and vision blurry with his heavy lids, and _oh shit._ His heart’s lub-dub-ing faster than it ever has and his mouth has gone dry. He widens his eyes to experiment, raises a brow, lets it droop, and does the same with the other. He crinkles his forehead then relaxes the muscle there, then lifts his foot and lets it flop onto his mattress.

 _I’m too young_ , he’s thinks, swallowing hard on nothing. He’s heard the tales before, ones from his Nan, ones from the furthest, mustiest shelf in the public library, ones on the Internet from people living in Chile. But they’ve never been like this. He’s never heard of being _too young._

That’s the thing - his mum went through the talk before the recommended age, because she felt like he’d have to know sooner on and that it would take time for him to settle into the rulings.

A letter appears where you'll notice it the most on the day you're supposed to be notified, just explaining that you have go meet your soulmate. It can be a formal letter through the post, an email disguised as if it is from your school's address, a text before you head to bed, or in Harry's case, a piece of paper pressed against his forehead. Then there's a date included for what ministry branch to meet at and when. (There's a couple that Harry's head of, but he knows there must be more across the globe: London, Los Angeles, Some more places in America that Harry can't remember, China, and France because _obviously.)_

Sixteen and he still feels queasy and awestruck when he thinks of these things. Love is meant for Hollywood and the Shakesperean times, Harry would answer if you ever asked.

Not many people around Harry have gotten their notifications, is the thing.

Gemma’s nineteen and hasn’t received any sort of notification. His mum and dad never got any approval, just became reckless and married (probably why they divorced, Harry thinks but keeps shut about it) and Anne still hasn’t gotten anything from the ministry yet. His friends don’t even know how it all works and their mostly a couple months older than him. His science teacher just got divorces, he's heard, so he can't ask him about it either. And many others around him are still single and lonely or mucking around with life but here's me with my letter at the record age of six-fucking-teen, Harry thinks.

_Why can’t my soulmate negotiation wait a little longer?_

 

~.~.~.~.~

 

When he tells him mum she’s delighted.

(It’s an understatement. Harry likes to think his ideal life style is the chill kind of life.)

She detaches the fancy paper from his forehead and reads it thoroughly, many times over and over again until the faint murmur is buzzing at the insides of his head like one of those catchy ridiculously cliche song on the radio.

She squeals and kisses his temple a couple times each when she reaches words like ‘soulmate’, ‘your son’, ‘Harold Edward Styles’, ‘love’, and ‘forever’. 

There's nothing exciting about this, Harry thinks. Just scary, is all. 

Gemma munches on her soggy fruit lloops from her seat with no comment made and hair held in a half bun-thing from her sleep. 

Harry just smiles even though his mind is whirring with thoughts and accepts the tight squeezes and kisses because he likes that and he’s still only _sixteen._

Harry feels like his knees are about to give off because fuck, he’s too _young._ He doesn’t want to meet his soulmate, is the blatant issue here.

He wants to be like others his age. Mucking around with people that aren't his forever, carnivals, and experimenting and journals filled with experiences and secrets, and names of boys' he'll forget in years. He doesn't want permanence, doesn't want the one of his lifetime presented to him now. He wants to be alive and be free, not feel like he should be planning his wedding that will happen some time during the next five years.

His mum squeals and claps her hands together then kisses both his cheeks sloppily. 

“Isn’t this a wonderful surprise, Harry darling?,” she asks with glistening eyes and picks up the land line to call Harry’s nan.

“Wait ‘till your grandmother hears about this, love, she’ll be delighted,” Harry hasn’t answered her original question but she’s rambling off the way she does when she’s ecstatic.

Harry’s happy that she’s happy for him. But he’s not happy for himself, he is just stuck in a metaphorical state where he just _doesn’t know._

 

Anne sticks the letter on to the fridge with a penguin magnet, looks at it preciously then glances at Harry with teary eyes for a moment and clasps her hands together with an overwhelmed smile. 

 

Harry gets to stay home that entire Wednesday because its a special day and he gets to play fifa until his eyes hurt and can’t see anything else and he’s stomach is too full on chocolate dipped strawberries and salt and vinegar crips.  

It's kinda perfect. Except for the whole soul mate forever thing. 

 

~.~.~.~.~

 

It’s a Saturday that the ministry wants him to come to them,  so his mum drives him there. (He hasn't got his license yet but don't laugh because he's been focussing on his studies.)

Anne’s still so so happy, smiling too wide with the crinkles near her eyes and Harry’s mood has changed from  _I just don't know_ suddenly to  _I'm scared out of my pants_ in the time it took for Harry to take the seat beside Anne in the car. 

Gemma has her knees near her chest and her arms wrapped around her legs with a scowl on her face. 

 _It's not pretty on you, Gems,_ Harry wants to say,  _Smile please, 'm not that happy about this all either._

 

It’s a spring morning and the weather’s breezy and his hair is flying everywhere and that sort of makes his happy. Harry would rather be playing soccer with the neighbour’s daughter. Considering she’s seven and he’s hopeless at any sort of contact sport, anyone can fathom his feelings right now. 

Gemma’s silent the entire time, just looking out the window. Anne's still talking over the summery music with heavy beats and pretty vocals on the raidio, looking over at Harry every chance she can while she safetly manoevres an automobile.

Harry forces his dimples out when appropriate, and nods and murmurs some nonsense when he thinks he should. He has been taught manners after all, it's not nice to disappoint parents, (or sisters who are currently jealous, grumpy and ignoring you).

He tilts his head and lets it settle against the side window, eyes looking at the buildings and city life as their small SUV passes through rapidly.

 

Harry researched quite a bit after the Wednesday he got the notation.  There are quite ridiculous and abnormal stories going around.

One’s of farm animals getting letters from the ministry and have actually soulbonded, with others of their kind , one’s where rare mishaps have occurred where people have ended up loathing and having no possibility of agreeing over anyting, and one’s where the age gap has been over seventy five years (poor baby, he remembers thinking.)

But it only got him even more petrified than he originally way. 

What if his soul mate was ninety and dying of heart failure? What would happen then?  What if this was all a mistake and his mum was pleasantly surprised now to go back to mundane, boring mum with her hopes crushed? What if they end up being a drug dealer? A criminal? What if they don't like Christians? What if they're allergic to cats? What if they laught at Harry for being a virgin?

Harry doesn’t want that. But he kind of wants it too, as selfish and confusing as it may seem. 

 

~.~.~.~.~

 

Harry starts to think of what his mate will be like.

It’s a he, Harry knows, a lad with lad bits, and lad hobbies who is very very laddy.

That’s what I want, that’s what I’ll have, he decides. He really hopes it’s a guy.

He hopes they don’t mind curls or dimples, because he’s aware that when someone meets him for the first time those are two of many things that they will remember him by. Harry also hopes that him being sixteen and still in school won’t be any problem.  Also being a virgin and the only relationship he's ever been in to fit in with the other lads, and has only ever snogged anyone once and that was a girl too, so.

He hopes his mate understands him and loves him as much as they are meant to.

Harry’s still so confused about this entire thing and doesn't want a damn soulmate. 

 

 ~.~.~.~.~

 

When they get there, the ministry actually seems like that ancient painting of the School of Athens, Harry recalls.

It’s all blaringly white with crowds of people in many single filed lines. All sorts of people too, ones in wheel chairs with drool down their chins, some in waste coats and fedora hats, others unexpectedly younger than him holding on to parent’s hand with the other gripping onto their notification.

He looks at his mum and her eyes are brimming with tears, her lips quivering slightly. _Don't cry, mum._

She zips open her hand bag and fishes out his letter, just slightly crumbled and folded in half.

“Oh Harry,” she murmurs and pulls him into a really tight hug, and he ducks his head down and hunches his shoulders to seem like he can fit. There’s bustling about everywhere he can hardly hear Anne.

“’M so happy for you, sweetheart,” she kisses both his cheeks and his forehead and ruffles his curls a little.

Gemma hugs him too, "Just don't get a head of yourself, baby brother," she smiles and kisses his temple. Harry's strangely surprised becase they haven't spoken in four days, even though he has been wanting to since Wednesday morning. 

“Give us a call when you’ve met him and everything’s good, yes love?,” Anne's eyes are locked on his and he nods, pats his pocket where his phone’s pocketed and watches as Gemma and Anne both get in the car and drive off. 

 

~.~.~.~.~

 

Harry’s in line now.

The line is so fukcing long he can’t see the first one at the front but slender fingers are holding onto the crisp sheet of paper, and the anxiety’s kicking in.

His lips are chapped from all the biting, and his mouth is parched dry. His legs ache from standing for so long and his entire being just wants to move and preferable take the soulmate negotiating as a joke.

Harry isn’t one to judge but there are pretty weird people around him.

There’s the man next to him on the other line with a phone held against his ear the entire time. Harry names him Mr Whittington and he decides the man would rather be at a business meeting than meeting his soul mate at the approximate age of forty two.

There’s an old lady with wrinkled skin diagonal to him biting her red polished nails. Harry doesn’t know what to think when he sees the gold band against the knuckle of her fourth finger that she keeps fiddling with every so often.

There are men with outrageous beards combed into figures with poodles on leashes.It’s even weirder that some of the pets have sheets of paper of their own caught between pearly bleached teeth.

It’s all a bit weird, Harry concludes as he moves a little closer towards the beginning of the line.

About an hour has passed and he’s moved quite a bit during the time. He’s back to being bored out of his mind, slightly agitated and _tired._ There’s actually no internet reception inside the damn building so Harry puts his phone back into his pocket and crosses his arms, bottom lip jutting out in a pout. 

 

The people around him are different  from who they were before, because some names have been called out and been ordered to move higher, with other told to move to different lines or follow one of the officers somewhere else.

The person in front of him has shocking blue hair. It’s an electric, modern shade, Harry contemplates, and the skin of his arms in contrast are really pale, maybe paler that his own.

He turns his head back and smiles massively at Harry, thin red lips tugging upwards and does a little wave. He also might be about the same age as Harry.

“Hello,” he says, “Excited?”

He’s not British, Harry thinks.

“Yup,” he pops out the p and nods with a light smile. Harry doesn't  like lying but he also shouldn't be speaking his proper feelings to stranger, so. 

“’M Michael, freaking Jet lagged, mate. How’d you get ‘ere?,” he introduces himself.

“Harry. Mum dropped me off. Are you from Australia?”

“Hell yes, mate. Imagine being on a plane half way around the world with money you’ve been saving since you were eight for this. Jesus, she better be listening to my kinda bands,” Harry feels like words in strange accents are being thrown at him and he’s not capable of catching any of them.

Harry also thinks he himself doesn’t listen to Michael’s kind of bands.

Harry just nods and quirks his lips up a little and watches as Michael Blue Hair from Australia gets his name called from the loudspeaker and after a smirk, a pat on Harry’s back and a wink, Michael’s disappeared off somewhere with a man dressed in a too-tight suit and gelled back hair. 

 Michael Gordan Clifford, Harry locks it in his brain. 

~.~.~.~.~

 

He’s been in line for more than three hours. He's hungry and fatigued, and he--

“Harold Edward Styles is needed at Line number 3. Please ascend towards the front office,” calls out a robotic voice and his ears prick up at his full name. _Christ,_ his fullname.

His cheeks are burning hot because they actually called him _Harold._

Harry runs a hand through his unruly curls, pulls down his band tee and skips through with murmured, “excuse me”s and “so sorry”s as he makes his way to line three.

He walks to the front of the line at a clumsy level of high speed and is breathing heavily with puffed out cheeks when he reaches what he supposes is the front office. His bottom lip is caught between his teeth. 

His heart is giddy with excitement but he's still so petrified.

There’s a lady with a height that reaches his shouders, her raven black hair pinned up in a tight bun. She’s an officer, even Harry knows. 

“Mr Styles,” she speaks his name as if she knows him personally or something, “This way please”, and he’s being directed towards a corridor with many door following. Some have labels, some don't. Harry wants to ask why. Maybe his soulmate will have the answer for him. 

She walks a step ahead of sixteen year old Harry and opens a door with no labelling at the front and leads him inside.

“Enjoy your soulmate!,” she says and closes the door silently behind her.

Harry doesn’t know what to do. Harry doesn’t know what to feel, how to move, he just doesn’t know. He wants to call his mum but this is one of those rare things that his mum doesn’t know the answer to.

Even tea and biscuits won't do the trick. 

He’s still facing the light brown wood of the door so he turns himself around as awkwardly as possible, and _holy wank shit fuck cunt fuck._

There, in front of him is the most beautiful boy he has ever seen. His hair’s covered in a maroon beanie with a tuft of hazelnut swept to one side of his forehead. He has eyes the colour of the ocean spray on a summer’s day, framed with long lashes fanning over his high cheek bones every time he looks down. His face is angular, and his jaw line’s sharp. He twists his thin lips a little and Harry thinks that his own fat, plump ones would fit perfectly against his.

Harry isn’t that spontaneous. He takes pride in taking his time and mulling thoughts over but he can’t help it when the other lad stands up from his chair, Harry takes one step towards the boy and catches his mate’s lips with his.

Harry’s holding onto the kiss like he’s been desperate and dying for it for weeks, and his _soulmate_ doesn’t react at first. Harry has his hands cupping the boy’s cheeks, bodies flushed against each other. God dammit that feels better than anything with a girl.

It takes the other only a second to realise what’s happening and twists skinny fingers into Harry’s hair, tugging at his chocolate curls slightly. Harry can't help but let a _sound_ escape him. 

 When they pull apart Harry’s cheeks are flushed crimson and the other lad seems to have a pink tint against his cheek bones too. It's really pretty on him. 

Holy fuck my forever's gorgeous, Harry thinks.

Harry’s big hands haven’t moved from where they were and they’re lips only have about an inch apart. Louis smells like tea, cinnamon, laddy cologne with a faint smell of bitter beer.

Harry thinks its his new favourite smell and he doesn't want to change it ever again.

Louis tilts his head up and presses a kiss onto Harry’s lips that's much more gentle than their first, just a brush of closed lips, and gulps soundingly.

“Hi,” is the first thing Louis says.

Harry swallows the lump in his throat and thinks he should muster up an apology for randomly kissing practically a stranger.

“Oops,” is what he literally speaks.

Louis doesn’t seem bothered that Harry’s response makes no sense what so ever.

“Shouldn’t be referring to you as soulmate in my head, should I?,” Harry thinks Louis’ voice is a little higher than it normally must be. It’s gravelly and the teeniest husky and Harry might want to hear it every day for the rest of his life.

“Oh. Um uh. Harry. Letter says Harold though. But, uh. Harry. Sorry,” Harry mutters, and cards his fingers through his hair.

He only realises they've both dropped their notifications onto the floor. His is still folded neatly in half. Louis' is crumples and a bit ripped, too. 

“’M Louis. Louis Tomlinson,” he smiles brightly at Harry, and pats his elbow, “Don’t worry we can discuss our kid’s surname’s over time, whether it’ll be yours or mine. Doesn't bother me, really.”

 

Harry forgets to laugh at the joke and realises they're going to spend  _forever_ with each other. 

I might keep him around, He nods. 

 

~.~.~.~.~ 

 

They walk out the building with the backs of their hands grazing over each other, and each time it happens, Harry’s cheeks are a shade darker as he  apologises in a jumble. Louis’ hands are warm and tiny and Harry would really like to hold them.

 

~.~.~.~.~ 

 

Harry remembers to text his mum.

_Met him mum. Nice lad. Don’t mind spending life with him so dw. Love you. bye._

And sends another.

_Don’t cry too much._

Then he remembers vital information and taps at the screen again.

_Louis works at a record store is that okay? n he likes greasy pizza n he’s 18 n he lives by himself in london. I like him already._

Louis’ been on his toes and peeked a look at the screen by then. He giggles and presses lips against Harry’s cheeks and ruffles his hair.

“I kinda like you too, love” Louis smiles and pats Harry’s shoulder like they are already through that phase.

Not that's it's a phase, Harry recorrects his thoughts. Louis' hand drops down the length of Harry’s arm and lets his fingers twine with Harry's.

It’s actually kinda perfect and Harry can’t stop smiling the entire time they stroll around the park together.

Harry really can’t remember why he was ever so lost or frightened of meeting his soulmate because Louis Tomlinson seems like a pretty perfect idea of everything Harry never knew he needed in his life until it was staring right at him with bright blue cerulean eyes that might just hold the purpose of Harry's life. 

 

~.~.~.~.~

 

It's been about a nine months since HarryandLouis and Harry doesn't think he's ever been so content in all sixteen years of life. He also thinks he was a dumb ass for being so petrified of meeting Louis, of all people.  
Harry thinks he's in love, but like as if that is a surprise.

It's midday on a Sunday and they still haven't left Louis' single bed. It's crowded and every inch of his warm skin is pressed against Louis' and it should be uncomfortable because Harry's mum has always said Harry's claustrophobic but he's also read every Nicholas Sparks books and watched every one converted to a movie too, so he really isn't going to complain.

They're silent, and its comfortable. Harry's fingers are in Louis' hair, and Louis' nimble fingers are tangled in Harry's own head of curls. The pair are in seperate worlds, combined together somehow to make one lovely universe where its only them. Harry and Louis, the way its written in the stars, the way it will be forever.

Harry's phone buzzes from beside him, then vibrates again.

"Bet you it's Gems, Haz," Louis chuckles, puckering his lips over Harry's forehead.

He takes the phone into his hands, and of course Louis' right.

_h h h h guess what lil bro?_

_we got letters_.

His phone vibrates in his hand, sending jolts through his body.

me and mum both. excittedd!!

Harry knows what she's rambling about. It's soulmate notification, of course. And Harry's ecstatic for them.

Harry has so much to say. He wants to tell them to not be scared, to never doubt, to let themselves love. He wants to hug them and kiss them and let them know that they should always be listening for the announcements in the damn center. Harry wants to tell them he's proud and that he'd string the balls of both men if they don't treat his mum or sister proper the way they deserved to.

He smiles lazily at the screen and Louis peaks to catch sight of the texts.

"about bloody time," Louis hums, and Harry nods.

_hope you find your own lou. xx_

He types in and Louis kisses bare skin again, humming a tune.

_haha i hope so too, harry xxxx. love you both lots._

 

~.~.~.~.~

 

It's not actually kinda perfect. Harry isn't goint to lie to himself, it really isn't.

 

Louis lets the milk go stale and distracts him from his homework. All his damn university preferences are atleast two hours away from Louis' flat and he has these mates who do weed way too often. He's breaking out all over his face and he needs more hours at the bakery on Saturday so he can buy Louis his birthday present. He is also the under the weather and he can always do with more sleep and more reruns of Friends. 

But he's got Louis and he knows that he's always going to be okay and that's enough for him, really.

More than enough, for his, entire life and the ones following and the ones that have already passed, yeah. 

 

~.~.~.~.~

 

**Author's Note:**

> okay so i was thinking about harryandlouis and the hunger games and soulmates and i came up with this???
> 
> um but like don't hate im new to this and sorry for grammar mistakes or whatever i don't have friends to recheck but if u have any questions or prompts or whatever uh:
> 
> quirrafes.tumblr.com but like ask me off anon so i can answer personally because my friends know my blog and they'll think im a pretty big wierdo so. and im bad at endings i know like my teachers don't let me know already. 
> 
> sorry this is getting awkward. 
> 
> okey bye. thanks for reading. 
> 
> title from real friends by the flooboards because i just felt like it.


End file.
